


Leather and Laces

by janescott



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-24
Updated: 2010-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-10 06:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for youth_is_dead who asked for: Adam in a corset; a slut for Tommy's fingers and tongue, and some hair-pulling would be nice. Beta'd by i_bleed_magenta</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leather and Laces

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing herein belongs to me.

Backstage is always a rush. Noise, people running here there and everywhere, and Tommy fucking _loves_ it, soaking up the pre-show adrenaline.

He ducks and dodges around people in the corridors, heading for the dressing room he's sharing with Monte, LP and a couple of the dancers, when a door opens and a hand reaches out, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward, so Tommy has no choice but to follow.

He stumbles a little, because he's carrying his guitar case, and it bumps against the back of his legs as Adam draws him into his dressing room. "What the ..." his voice fades out at the same time as his brain short-circuits and he turns to lean his case carefully against the wall before turning back to Adam.

Adam's half-dressed for the show, which means he's wearing nothing but heeled boots and tight black leather pants that sit dangerously low on his hips, the promise of sin just out of reach. His torso is shimmering with some kind of gilttery powder, and he's done his eye makeup already, - his eyes a gleaming blaze of blue and green, thickly outlined with black.

He crowds Tommy against the door, and Tommy barely has time to blink before Adam's mouth is on his; restless and hot.

"Hi," Adam murmurs against his neck, and Tommy can feel the vibration of his laugh, and knows that Adam's mocking himself a little bit: they only saw each other this morning.

Tommy slides a hand down Adam's bare back, slipping the tips of his fingers inside his pants. They're tight, but there's a little bit of give, and it makes Adam's breath hitch in the back of his throat.

"Hi yourself," Tommy says, pressing his fingertips into the soft skin at the top of Adam's ass.

"What's with the caveman routine?"

Not that Tommy _minds_ being manhandled by Adam, but token protests must be made, so that Adam doesn't think it's always okay to just throw Tommy around, because he's kind of on the skinny side.

Adam ignores the question and says cheerfully, "I need your help," his mood switching as easily as flicking a switch, as he pushes back from the door and picks up some kind of leather ... corset from the back of his chair.

A corset. Oh, fuck. Tommy absently rubs his hands – sweaty and hot now – on the front of his jeans.

Jesus. Okay.

Tommy has to shut his eyes for a minute, but that really doesn't help as a visual of Adam in the corset pops into his mind.

He opens his eyes and takes the corset from Adam's hand, momentarily distracted as he rubs his fingers over the soft black leather. It's studded all over with – "are those _crystals_?" he asks, looking up at Adam and laughing.

Adam shrugs and turns around so he's facing the dressing-room mirror. He picks up the same glittery black lipstick he's been wearing every night on tour and starts carefully applying it.

"Yeah. The original had like ... metal studs? But I wanted something shinier for on stage. Now help me get the fucking thing on, okay, and I'll do your makeup for you."

Tommy rubs his fingers over the leather again, brushing over the crystals and the fake buckles on the front. It's going to look _amazing_ under the lights.

"You know, I've never done this before," he says, meeting Adam's eyes in the mirror, but Adam just shrugs.

"It's like lacing shoes. Sort of. But with ... more laces. You'll be fine. We've got lots of time."

"Fine," he says, trying for a put-upon tone, but not quite getting there, his voice almost wavering a little. "Put your arms up." He wraps the corset around Adam's waist and frowns as he goes to work on the laces.

It takes a while, but it's kind of a mindlessly pleasant task, and Tommy soon gets into the rhythm of it, pulling the laces through tiny hole after tiny hole. He makes a careful knot, finally, giving it one last tug, and looks up when Adam catches his breath. "Not too tight. I have to be able to sing in this thing."

Tommy doesn't say anything to that; he just slips two fingers under the back of the corset, the cotton lining sliding smooth against his fingers, and pulls it back against Adam's body slightly, watching in the mirror as it frames Adam's hips, making the bones jut out slightly between the bottom of the corset and the top of his pants.

He lets go as Adam curls his fingers into the counter-top, staring at Tommy in the mirror, his eyes wide and blue.

"Makeup," Adam says, his voice high and strained, which has nothing to do with the corset at all, Tommy knows, his eyes drawn involuntarily downward. He swallows suddenly, his throat dry, because Adam's _hard_, his cock pushing obscenely against the leather of his pants.

But. Before the show is not the time, and it's not like Adam hasn't performed hard before.

Adam starts sorting through his makeup bag as Tommy perches lightly on the counter, waiting. He's more than capable of doing his own makeup for the show, but Adam does a better job anyway, and there's something strangely intimate about it: the way Adam does it in complete silence, his hands sliding gently over Tommy's face as he makes up his eyes and carefully paints his mouth cherry-red.

Adam paints the last stroke with the tiny lip brush as there's a knock at the door, and the stage manager pokes her head in. "Nearly time, guys."

The show goes off without a hitch - one of those nights where _everything_ just comes together in the right mix, and Tommy's dizzy by the end of it, and half-hard after being stalked around the stage by a predatory Adam for most of the night.

But Tommy's learned over the past few months that he can give as good as he gets – on stage and off – and somehow they're in the back of a car heading back to the hotel the band's staying in for the night before heading out on the road again tomorrow, and Tommy can't stop _touching_.

Adam's makeup is smeared and smudged – what's left of it. The rest has gradually sweated off over the course of the show, and his black lipstick is a smoky shadow around his mouth.

Tommy straddles Adam in the car, tasting the remains of that lipstick and smearing his own on Adam's mouth as he runs his hands over the boning in the corset, slipping them under the long jacket Adam's wearing, feeling the leather and studs soft and sharp under his fingers.

They get back to the hotel and up to the room somehow – Tommy's finding the night is starting to go a bit fuzzy around the edges as the adrenaline from the show starts to wear away – but it doesn't stop him pushing Adam towards the bed, shoving at the sleeves of his jacket as they go.

The backs of Adam's knees hit the bed, and he sits down, looking up at Tommy, his eyes smoky and hooded as he slips his jacket off the rest of the way and drops it on the floor.

Adam lifts a leg and says, "You'll have to take my boots off for me. I can't bend very well in this."

Tommy grips the boot by the heel and tugs, pulling it off and dumping it on the floor as Adam lifts another long leg, his mouth twisting up in a small smile. The other boot falls to the floor with a dull thud and then Tommy straddles Adam again, pushing him back on to the bed, his hands on his bare shoulders, slipping over the remains of the glittery powder Adam had dusted his torso with before the show.

Adam could flip them easily: he's bigger than Tommy; more solid. And sometimes he does, when it starts like this, with Tommy pushing at Adam. Sometimes Adam pushes back. Most times, he pushes back.

But once in a while – like a very rare treat – he doesn't. He lays back and lets Tommy have his way. What Tommy likes best is that he never knows for sure when he pushes Adam like this exactly what's going to happen.

This time, though, Adam lies back on the bed and just watches as Tommy peels his pants off, discarding them on the floor before fumbling out of his own clothes, and crawling back up to settle between Adam's legs.

Adam stretches then, rolling out his arms and his long legs, arching his back up as much as he can, and all Tommy can do is _stare_ as the low lamplight glints off the crystals and buckles on the corset and shimmers on the leftover glitter.

Adam quirks an eyebrow that seems to say: "see something you like?" and fuck it, Tommy's _gone_. He gropes in the small bag on the floor by the bed, dropping what he wants in easy reach before kissing Adam messy and hard, grinding his hips down and feeling the sharp points of the corset digging into his skin.

Tommy gropes for the bottle first, smearing his fingers carelessly as best he can with Adams arms sliding over his back and his mouth insistent and ruthless on his neck.

"Jesus," Tommy breathes out as Adam bites down hard just below his collarbone, tugging on the soft skin with his teeth as Tommy slips his slick hand between Adam's legs.

Adam heaves a breath that comes out shallow and panting, the corset moving slightly against Tommy's skin; sharp and soft at the same time. He rubs lightly around Adam's hole with one finger; just teasing, watching as Adam's head tips back against the pillow and his eyes close; his mouth – smudged with faint red-and-black now – slightly open.

Tommy shifts quietly as he slowly slides his finger in, biting his lip as Adam's muscles tighten involuntarily, before Adam lets out a soft moan, spreading his legs wide. Tommy feels the constriction around his finger release at the same time and he slides his other hand over the corset, absently stroking Adam's jutting hipbone with his thumb as he starts fucking Adam slowly; adding a second finger when Adam arches his back again, an impatient noise coming from the back of his throat.

And it's sort of funny, Tommy thinks vaguely, as he twists his hand and stretches his fingers, feeling Adam getting a little bit looser around him, that this is the one time Adam's _quiet_.

Any other time – when he's fucking Tommy – Adam's got the filthiest mouth in creation, and just the sound of his voice makes Tommy hard. But _this_ Adam – the one who asks for this without saying a word, goes almost completely silent. He moves – oh God does he _move_ Tommy thinks as he watches Adam roll his hips up and start fucking down faster on Tommy's fingers, his breath panting and harsh in the quiet hotel room; his hard cock tapping lightly against the leather of the corset, leaving small streaks of pre-come behind.

Tommy absently moves his hand to grab the base of his own cock – hard and kind of aching now – but the good thing about fucking when you're 28 as opposed to 18 is that you can make it last if you want to, and Tommy _wants_ to.

Adam groans and pushes his hand through Tommy's hair, pulling on his thick fringe hard, when Tommy adds a third finger, letting Adam do most of the work as he pushes his feet down on the bed and fucks down harder on Tommy's fingers, his legs spread wide on the bed; silent but completely shameless.

This is the Adam that reminds Tommy the most of on-stage Adam – shameless and open and fucking _wild_. Tommy puts a hand on Adam's hip to still his thrusting for a moment as he lays down between Adam's legs, withdrawing his fingers, spreading Adam's hole with his thumbs, the rough callouses on the tips scraping over Adam's sensitive skin and making him moan, as his hand – still tangled in Tommy's hair – tightens for a moment.

Tommy just smiles before he flicks his tongue out – tiny, teasing touches (and why is banana-flavour a good idea for anything?) that barely feel like anything at all. He slips the tip of his tongue in as Adam rolls his hips up again, and Tommy has to open his mouth a little wider, because now Adam's fucking down on his _tongue_. Tommy shifts his hands so he's gripping the inside of Adam's thighs, silently telling him to stop fucking _moving_.

Adam's open already from Tommy's fingers, but still tight around his tongue and oh, _fuck_. Tommy pushes his tongue in hard, pulling out and thrusting as Adam starts moving again, not able to help himself, his hand gripped around the base of his cock.

"Tommy ..." he whispers finally, his voice sounding fucking wrecked.

Tommy pulls out and wipes his mouth; saliva has pooled and run down his chin.

"Turn .. turn over," he rasps out, ragged and needy as he gropes for the condom packet on the bed. Adam turns on to his front as Tommy rolls the condom on, and Tommy can't help it: he tugs at the laces on the corset as he slips slowly in, groaning at the still-tight feel of Adam's ass around his cock.

Adam's breath hitches when Tommy pulls the corset tight against his body, and he groans, low and long as Tommy starts fucking into him – slow at first, because - "F-fuck you're tight," Tommy manages as Adam pushes back on him; his hands braced on the bed in front of him.

All Tommy can do is hold on, and that's always true, no matter who's fucking whom. He grips Adam's hip in one hand and tangles the fingers of his other hand in the laces of the corset, tugging back on it as he fucks Adam harder, and more frantic.

"A-Adam -" is all Tommy manages, his forehead pressed to the back of Adam's neck before he's coming hard and fast; his vision sparking white for a second. Wordlessly Adam grabs Tommy's hand, wrapping it around his hard cock and Tommy jerks Adam fast and filthy, panting into Adam's skin as he comes in hot, white stripes all over the corset and Tommy's hand.

Carefully, Tommy grasps the base of the condom and pulls out, stripping it and dropping it on the floor. He sits on the edge of the bed for a moment before making his way to the bathroom. He looks at himself in the mirror as he uses the shitty hotel mouthwash, and he's a hot mess.

His lipstick is long gone, but it's left red smudges around his mouth, mixed with faint black streaks. His eye makeup is rubbed off or smeared and his mouth is red and swollen. Tommy half shrugs and spits out the mouthwash, remembering to wet a washcloth before going back into the bedroom.

Adam's still lying on his front, his head turned towards Tommy as he makes his way back toward the bed.

"Help me out of this thing?" he says, moving until he's sitting up on his knees on the bed. The corset's a little worse for wear now; there's glitter and come all over it and Tommy wonders if they'll have to get it cleaned.

"Sure," he says easily, undoing the laces and patiently loosening it enough so they can get it off.

Adam takes a deep breath and reaches for the cloth, idly cleaning up his flat stomach before flopping back on to the bed, pulling Tommy with him, and kissing him hard and dirty, his hands on Tommy's ass.

Tommy traces the red lines on Adam's back that the boning of the corset has left behind, trailing his fingers down one line, and up another, fascinated with the symmetry of them.

Adam kicks at the sheets and bedcovers until they're both covered, and Tommy curls easily against Adam's large, warm frame.

"Good show tonight," Adam says lazily just before sleep claims him.

"Yeah," Tommy says, his own voice thick with exhaustion.

"Good show."


End file.
